


American Horror Story: Supernatural

by KataleesaSkywalker



Category: American Horror Story: Hotel, Supernatural
Genre: Addict Sam Winchester, Alternate Universe - Horror, Blood Drinking, Blood and Torture, Bottom Dean, Case Fic, Character Turned Into Vampire, Dark Castiel, Dark Charlie, Dark Dean Winchester, Detective Dean Winchester, Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, Ghost Charlie, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, Past Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Past Ruby/Sam Winchester, Possessive Castiel, Possessive Gabriel, Psychological Horror, Serial Killer Castiel, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Smut, Temporary Character Death, Top Castiel, Transgender Lucifer, Vampire Castiel, Vampire Gabriel, Vampire Sam Winchester, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5621491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KataleesaSkywalker/pseuds/KataleesaSkywalker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a homicide detective. It's an unforgiving job, but he does it anyway because he wants to save people. He tells himself that it's out of guilt, and paying some sort of penance for a dark past that has surely earned him a place in hell. Maybe the truth is, he enjoys the chaos of it all, the unpredictability that comes from chasing a serial killer. When his girlfriend Lisa finally kicks him out, he has no choice but to rent a hotel room for awhile at the once popular Hotel Novak.</p>
<p>It doesn't take him long to notice that there are strange and terrible things going on in that place, things that make his nightmares seem like wet dreams. Soon, he finds himself falling for the enigmatic, blue eyed owner, and despite every instinct telling him to run away, he just can't bring himself to leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this story is based on AHS:Hotel, but the characters themselves won't make an appearance and the plot is different, to an extent. Hope you enjoy.

Detective Dean Winchester had seen enough death to last him a lifetime.

It never got any easier, no matter how much he wished it would. At night he would lay in bed, haunted by visions of bloody crime scenes and puzzle pieces that didn't always fit. Not solving a case meant another killer was walking free, and he couldn't have that on his conscience. 

He had enough _guilt_ to last him a lifetime, too.

Dean wasn't surprised when Lisa finally told him to kick rocks. He was amazed she had lasted as long as she did, really. They had managed to stay together _6 whole months_. That was at least 3 months longer than his last girlfriend, who had nicely suggested he kill himself before he subject another person to the train wreck that was Dean Winchester.

He kept weird hours, drank too fucking much, and woke up screaming from his nightmares almost every day of the week. _He_ could barely put up with it, so he could hardly expect any sane human being to have the same tolerance.

The newest case he'd been working on had him completely stumped. The media had dubbed the killer 'The Fallen Angel', because of the way the blood had been sprayed around the bodies - just like angel wings. The guy was a real sicko, and Dean wanted to find him ASAP. But Mr. Sicko didn't even have the common decency to leave the tiniest bit of evidence for Dean to work with.

What an asshole.

It was 2 a.m. He had worked another late shift, the second in a row. His entire body was exhausted but his mind was racing. The Fallen Angel had left another victim for Dean to find. This time it was a leggy redhead who was notorious for prostitution and selling drugs. She wasn't a real classy citizen, but no one deserved to die the way she did. It has turned into a spectacle now, with the way the media ate up the Fallen Angel thing. Maybe it was just human nature. People were always willing to cause a traffic jam just get a small glimpse of a dead body, they just would never admit it out loud.

Dean headed to the small bar in the back of the hotel, a place he spent a lot of his down time at. The Hotel itself wasn't overly popular - at least, not anymore. At one time it was visited by celebrities and politicians. Now it was full of people like him who hated the world and everything in it. He knew some of them were drug addicts and criminals, but he had much bigger fish to fry than a few junkies and thieves.

Lucifer, the bartender, was behind the counter as he often was at this time of night. He wore a long purple sequin dress and perfectly applied black eyeliner that would make most women envious. Dean had spent many nights talking to Lucifer, or Lucy as he liked to be called now, usually discussing the case through a drunken haze of whiskey and regret. Alcohol seemed to be the only thing that could help him get through the night, even a little bit. 

He plopped down at his favorite stool, waving a hand towards the bartender before taking a quick glance around. He was the only one there, other than the strange redhead named Charlie who always seemed to be on her laptop. He had never spoken more than a few words to her, but she seemed nice enough. 

"Long night, Darling?" Lucifer asked, sliding a shot of whiskey towards the detective.

Dean snatched up the glass and swallowed the Amber liquid like it was mere water. "You could say that."

Lucifer rested his chin on his hand, nodding thoughtfully. "Another murder, huh?"

Dean nodded. "Hooker this time. Wish I knew his angle."

The Fallen Angel didn't seem to have a type, which made Dean's job that much harder. The first victim was a music student from Queens who was visiting relatives for the summer. The second was an army veteran who dressed up like Santa at Christmas. None of it made sense.

"Sometimes there is no angle," Lucy replied, turning to wash a few dirty glasses. "Sometimes people are just crazy."

Dean ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just wish this bastard would slip up, you know? Just once, so I can nail his ass."

"You're a smart man, Dean. I'm sure you'll find him in no time." The bartender offered a reassuring smile.

"Yeah, well." Dean stared down at his empty glass, the scene from earlier replaying in his mind. "It's not getting me anywhere right now."

Wanda, the dead hooker, had her throat cut and was hung on the side of a billboard for the world to see. He wondered how the hell this angel asshole had managed to pull something like that off without a single person seeing him.

"Would you like another one?" Lucifer asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Please."

His shot glass was refilled and he downed it again with urgency, desperate to clear his thoughts of the horrors that lurked there. 

"Thanks." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling his 48-hour-old stubble graze his skin. He was a fucking mess. He couldn't even remember the last time he had showered. Tuesday maybe? He probably smelled like death itself.

"You look exhausted, Darling. When are you going to get some sleep?"

"When that asshole is in jail." Dean spun the stool around and stood up. "I'm going to go up to my room - see if I can find anything new to work with." He slapped two 5 - dollar bills on the counter. "Thanks for listening."

Lucifer nodded, adjusting his long skirt. "Anytime, Detective."

Dean walked towards the elevator, the mix of whiskey and exhaustion causing him to stumble slightly. He moved past Rowena, the front desk clerk who barely spared him a glance. Her son Crowley was seated at one of the couches, reading a newspaper and wearing his usual black suit and tie affair that made him look like some kind of mob boss. In _this_ place, Dean wouldn't be surprised.

Poor Wanda. She probably wouldn't be the last victim. He had to work fast if he had any chance of saving someone else from that same terrible fate.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mentions of drug use, blood drinking, mentions of suicide

It had been over a year since Sam Winchester had seen his brother.

Even through the drug induced haze, he could still remember Dean's face and the way he smiled. His mossy green eyes would crinkle at the corners whenever something _really_ amused him, and his whole body would double over with laughter. Sam missed him more and more every single day that went by, but he was lost to Dean now. He knew that much. There was no coming back from... _this._

It wasn't just his drug addiction that kept them apart, even though _that_ was pretty fucked up all on it's own. He had sold his dead mother's jewelry just to pay for a fix, and Dean had caught him red handed. His brother was still living at their parent's house at the time, waiting for the damn thing to sell already so that they both could move on and get away from the terrible memories that lived within those walls like black mold that you could never get rid of. Sam was _supposed_ to be away at college, fulfilling his father's dream of becoming some big shot lawyer. In reality, he had met a brunette named Ruby who led him down the rabbit hole and ruined his life forever. 

It wasn't entirely _her_ fault, of course. Sometimes he thought with his dick before he let his brain get a word in edgewise. But Ruby painted a beautiful picture of a world without pain or remorse, and he immediately bought a first class ticket without bothering to see if it was refundable. When Ruby disappeared for weeks on end, without her usual offering of bliss on a platter, he took a Greyhound bus home and decided to find an alternative method to get what he wanted. He was so deep in the cloudy fog of withdrawal that he had actually forgotten that Dean was staying there, until he had a gun pointed at his fact at 3 in the morning.

"Sammy?"

Dean's voice brought him out of that fog for a moment, his hazel-green eyes lifting to meet the familiar and very confused gaze of his big brother. The only person who had always stood in his corner when no one else would. 

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Of course, the question was futile, because Sam had their mother's jewelry box clutched in his hand like it was the Hope Diamond, his face a sheen of sweat from the way his body was demanding his drug of choice. Maybe Dean had just been hoping that the answer was far different than the obvious one.

"I - uh..." He looked down at the box, hand-carved oak that their father had personally made himself 10 years ago. He had no explanation, and his mind wasn't even offering him one to get out of this. 

Dean hadn't lowered his gun yet, his green eyes full of anger and disappointment. He looked very much like John Winchester in that moment, though it was usually Dean who was on the receiving end, not Sam. "You're stealing Mom's jewelry. Why?"

Sam gave a shrug of his shoulders, trying to act as nonchalant as possible, and failing miserably. Dean had no idea of his drug addiction, since they hadn't even seen each other since Sam left for college last year. His brother was a detective though, and a damn good one, and before long the gun was finally lowered and a fist was coming towards his face instead. He slumped to the floor, still holding the box in his hand. "Ow! What the fuck, man?" Sam slurred, putting a hand to his cheek. 

"You're addicted to drugs?! Are you fucking stupid?"

Sam mumbled something incoherently, something even he couldn't understand, and he waved a hand. "It's not - I'm not - why are you here, Dean?"

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm here because I'm selling Mom and Dad's house, you moron. I told you this a week ago. Remember?"

Sam didn't remember that conversation, actually. He couldn't even remember what day it was. "Uh... right."

"So, let me see if I can get this straight." Dean began to pace around him in a circle. "Your money finally ran out. You need drugs. You decided to come here and steal Mom's jewelry to buy those drugs. You forgot that I was going to be here."

The younger Winchester nodded, feeling the world spinning around him. He felt like his chest was on fire. "Just let me... just let me take it. I'll give it back."

Dean grabbed him by the scruff of his collar, those green eyes boring into his. It wasn't a look Sam was used to, since Dean had always been his protector, and his best friend. "You need help, man. Let me help you! I had no idea you were - just let me help you!"

"I'm past saving, Dean," Sam mumbled, trying feebly to get out of his brother's grip. "Just let me go."

"How can you even say that? You and me, we're all we got. Mom and Dad are _dead_ , Sam." Dean released him and took a step back. "They're not coming back. And you - you've got to stop this before it's too late."

"How do you know it's not?" Sam asked, sitting back on his heels and looking up at Dean. "I was doomed the minute I left home."

"Shit." Dean balled up his fists and began to pace again. "Just tell me how this happened."

"Ruby... she..."

"Dammit, Sam! I told you that bitch was bad news!"

"I love her," Sam whispered, tears streaming down his face. 

"No, you miss the high that came whenever she was around," Dean snapped, leaning against the wall. "Where is she now?"

"She left. She just... left me." Sam wiped his wet cheeks with the sleeve of his red flannel. "She's gone."

"I can find her."

"You will?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Yeah. And then I'm gonna lock her ass up for doing this shit to you!" 

"No! You can't!" Sam gripped his brother's pantleg. "I love her, Dean. I love her!"

Dean shook his head. "Fuck, Sammy. How did this even happen? You're such a smart guy, full of potential -"

"Now you sound just like Dad," Sam said through gritted teeth.

"He was a bastard and an asshole, but he was right about that." Dean squatted down and put a hand on his shoulder. "Listen, Sam. We can fix this. I promise."

"I don't want your help, Dean."

"Wait - "

"Just let me go, Dean," Sam replied, stumbling to his feet. "Just let me go." In one last desperate attempt to leave there and get what he needed, he swung the box, managing to connect with the side of Dean's head.

The detective fell to the ground, one hand holding onto his temple, staring back at Sam with shock. "Wha - Sammy?"

"Goodbye, Dean. I'm sorry." Sam turned to leave. He wished he could feel guilty for doing it, but he did what he had to.

"You walk out that door, don't you _ever_ come back!" Dean yelled after him. 

Sam paused for just a moment, thinking about the implications of that statement. Dean _was_ all he had now, especially since Ruby had mysteriously disappeared. If he lost his brother, then he would lose everything he had left. His grades were already fucked up beyond repair, he had already been suspended from school for coming to class higher than the Empire State Building, and he had lost all his friends. 

The need inside him screamed with urgency again, causing him to wince with pain and clutch the box tightly in his grasp. Even in the dim light, he could see splotches of Dean's blood on the corner of the wood where it had connected with his brother's skull. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to move forward again. Maybe it was a good thing if he left Dean alone. The detective had enough problems to deal with - he didn't need a drug addicted brother added to that very long list.

Angel Grace was his drug of choice. A bright, sky blue liquid that came in vials and seemed to glow. Its effects made you feel like you were flying, and that you were in Heaven with God himself. Anyone who experienced the fucked up childhood that Sam did would naturally be attracted to such a thing. The problem was that anyone who was exposed to the drug for way too long, ended up actually trying to fly - usually off the rooftop of a very tall building. 

But there was something else now keeping him from his brother. He had a different need now, something much more painful and dangerous than Angel Grace could ever be. It was a cry for blood, swimming just beneath his skin like a bunch of snakes slithering through his veins. Even after he had fed, he could always feel it in the back of his mind, a reminder that he was no longer human. Not that his actions before this could prove that he was anything but a monster. He didn't need sharp fangs and glowing eyes for that.

The Hotel Novak had been his last stop on his way back to his cheap apartment in Florida. Once he had pawned all his mother's jewelry, he had just enough money to buy a bus ticket, a few more hits of Grace, and to rent the hotel room for two nights. He was in such a desperate need, however, that he ended up doing all the vials at once, causing him to ascend the winding stairway to the roof, riding a cloud of happiness and bliss.

He had looked out over the city for a few moments, the drug making him feel like wings had sprouted from his back and that he could soar above the rooftops and find Heaven. He had forgotten all about what he had done to get there, and how he had bashed his own brother in the head with a stolen box so he could get his fix. The stars glittered and sparkled above him, and he raised his arms high, wondering what it would feel like to fly through the entire solar system on wings made of galaxies and comets. 

It wasn't long before he had taken a step off the edge, a smile on his face, and began plummeting to the Earth. On that day, he _flew_. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

Dean groaned in frustration as the clock continued to make that incessant _clicking_ noise, reminding him of how much time had passed since he had gotten a wink of sleep. It was 5 a.m. now, and he wasn't any closer to blissful unconsciousness. Not even the whiskey had helped him this time. Maybe he was finally building up an intolerance. That would be just his luck. 

He scrubbed a hand over his face, staring up at the white plaster ceiling as if it held all the answers. The Fallen Angel case was really doing a number on him, and he could feel his desperation to solve it eating at his insides. Tomorrow he would try to interview whoever he could find in the area where the body was found - hookers, pimps, johns - and hope that one of them would be willing to talk. He already knew that they would probably remain tight lipped about the whole thing, since their types never talked to cops, if they could help it.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked over to the window, staring out at the night sky and the sparkling stars that dotted it. He was reminded of his little brother Sam, who he hadn't seen in a very long time. When they were younger, Dean would drive them to the old cornfield in Lawrence, and they'd drink beers all night and just watch those same stars. They didn't even need to speak the entire time, they just enjoyed being together. 

Guilt flared up in his chest and he put a hand to the windowsill, taking a deep breath. He wondered if Sam was okay. Had he managed to get clean? Was he still getting high instead of going to school? He knew he was hard on him the last time they had talked, but he had been more than a _little_ surprised when he found Sam trying to steal away into the night with their mother's jewelry box, intending to sell it for drug money. That was her most prized possession, and it felt like Dean was losing her all over again.

Sam wasn't supposed to end up that way, drug addicted and unpredictable. He was the one that their father had groomed his entire life to become a lawyer and make their family proud. The genius, the progeny. The golden boy who their parents doted on. Dean, on the other hand, was the black sheep that everyone expected would be nothing more than a mechanic in Bobby's garage.

_Bobby Singer._ Yet another person Dean couldn't save. 

He shrugged into his dark green, military style jacket and grabbed his keys. Maybe a little drive around town in his Baby would do him some good. It's not like he was accomplishing anything _here_ but stirring up painful memories. He shut and locked the door behind him, walking towards the elevator with his hands stuffed in his pockets. 

Dean wanted to try to find Sam soon. He was a detective, after all - that's what he was good at. Finding people and things that no one else could. His parents had always drilled into his brain that he had to look out for his baby brother, and he had _majorly_ failed in that department. He could just picture the angry face of their father now, glaring at him like Dean was a total piece of shit.

_"Good job, Dean! You let poor Sammy get addicted to drugs! We would have expected that from **you** , but not from him!"_

He rolled his eyes. Yeah, because it was Dean who handed him the stash and told him to go nuts, right? 

With a ding, the doors opened to reveal the most gorgeous man that Dean had ever seen.

Bright blue eyes looked out at him from underneath tousled dark brown hair. A pink tongue slicked out to coat the slightly chapped lips, which had begun to curve into a friendly smile. The man wore a light blue cardigan which just seemed to make his eyes that much brighter. For a few moments, Dean just gaped at the stranger, probably looking like a complete idiot while he did it. It wasn't until the man spoke, that Dean was brought back to reality. 

"Going down?"

The man's voice was deep and gravelly, and for a split second, Dean wondered what it would be like to hear that voice moan his name.

_Get it together, Winchester! You don't even **know** the guy!_

He could still appreciate a hot dude when he saw one. Oh, right. Said guy had asked a question, and he was busy drooling like some pervert and keeping him waiting.

"Yeah," Dean casually replied, walking into the elevator and standing in the corner. "Lobby please."

The other man pressed the button to the lobby, and the doors closed. They rode in silence for a few floors, until he turned to look back at Dean. "You're that detective, aren't you?"

Dean nodded, leaning back against the wall. "Yeah. That's me."

The blue eyed man faced the front again. "Interesting."

"Is it?"

"Well, I would imagine so. You chase down serial killers, don't you?"

"You could say that."

"Hmm."

Dean raised a brow. "Why do you ask?"

The other man shrugged. "I like to know who's staying in my hotel." 

They reached the lobby and they both stepped out. " _Your_ hotel?" Dean asked curiously. "You're the owner?"

"Castiel Novak," the man said, extending a hand. Dean slowly shook it in turn.

"Detective Dean Winchester." He knew at this point he didn't need to give his title, but he had earned it, damn it, and he was going to use it.

"A pleasure, Detective." Castiel gave him an amused glance. "I see you're a bit of a night owl, like me."

"Not by choice," Dean replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets again. "I can't sleep."

"Ah, I see." Castiel walked over to one of the red velvet couches and sat down, patting the seat next to him. "Care to join me then, Mr. Winchester?"

Dean hesitated for a moment, not wanting to bother the guy, but not wanting to be alone, either. He took the offered seat, folding his hands in his lap. "Hope I'm not keeping you from something," he said. 

Castiel waved a hand, slinging his arm over the back of the couch. "Not at all. I - couldn't sleep, either. Thought I'd take a little walk down here and watch the sun rise." He glanced towards the huge bay window that overlooked the lobby. The ocean was just beyond that, the beautiful azure waves kissing the shore, seagulls flying around and catching fish. Dean loved that beach but he rarely went there anymore. 

"I haven't bothered to watch a sunset in a long time," Dean murmured, more to himself than anything.

The other man chuckled. "Neither have I. Sometimes we get so caught up in our busy lives, that we forget to just stop and enjoy the little things."

Stop and enjoy the little things... like all those times he and Sam would sit on the hood of the Impala and watch the stars. God, how he missed him. 

"Are you alright, Detective?"

Dean nodded, plastering a smile on his face that was so fake, he was sure that Castiel could tell. If he did, he said nothing about it. "Yep. Just peachy. How about you?"

"I'm wonderful, now that I have such pleasant company."

Dean felt the tips of his ears redden and he looked away. "Come on now, I'm hardly _pleasant_ company, man. I'm a dick 90% of the time."

Castiel smirked. "I guess I was lucky enough to catch you during that other 10% when you're not 'such a dick', then." He airquoted the last part and Dean huffed a laugh.

"Thanks, I think. You're not so bad yourself." 

"I try to be kind to those who are kind to me." Something in those blue eyes darkened momentarily. "However, if they hurt me or someone I care about, I'm a much - different- person." 

The guy actually looked kind of scary when he said that, but Dean found himself more intrigued than anything. "I'll keep that in mind. Don't piss off the nerdy little dude in the cardigan."

Castiel frowned, looking down at his sweater. "There is nothing wrong with dressing nice when you go out, Dean. You never know who you're going to meet." He glanced up again and winked at Dean, causing the detective's breath to catch in his throat. "Or what you will end up doing."

With that single wink, all the blood in his head began rushing south, and he felt his erection begin to strain at his jeans. Fan-fucking-tastic. That was all he needed right now. He quickly stumbled to his feet, trying to remain turned away from the hotel owner so he didn't make this situation even more awkward. "I - uh - I gotta go -" he sputtered, then turned and practically sprinted towards the elevator. 


End file.
